Destiny Fulfilled

by Laire McKinney

  “Why do I question it? Because you’ve disappeared on me twice. Then the way you talk is funny. What is wrong with you?”

  “What is wrong with me?”

  “Yes. What is wrong with you? You better start talking or I’m going to call the police. I can’t believe I haven’t done that already.” She rubbed her temple. “But I have a bit of headache. I’m not thinking clearly.”

  “Are you not well?”

  “I’m fine. Just answer the questions.” She pulled something black out of her pocket.

  “What is that?” He leaned forward, muscles priming to snatch the object out of her hand.

  “This is a phone. How do you not know what it is?” Her eyes were slits of suspicion. “This is how I’m going to contact the police.”

  “No.” He reached for it.

  She yanked her hand away and held the other one in front of her, fending him off. Little use that would do. He could crush that so-called phone in his bare hands if he wanted to. But then he caught a hint of her fear. “I apologize. I have many things on my mind.”

  “So do I, like being a murder suspect. Care to help me with that one?”

  Quietly, gently, resolutely, he said, “Nay.”

  “Nay? What are you, a horse? Who talks like that?”

  “Who talks like what? And what does a horse have to do with murder? We will say the horse killed the man?”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “What role does Earth play here? The otherworlds are important. Not Earth.”

  “Excuse me?”

  This was not going well. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.”

  She inhaled, pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, and exhaled.

  He sensed her anger, her concern, and her anxiety.

  “Why are you anxious?”

  “Why am I anxious? What kind of question is that?”

  He shrugged. Can’t but get into this verbal battle again. Confusing, she is.

  “Look. I’m still not completely convinced you’re not a delusion.”

  A delusion? No, he was startlingly, shockingly real despite his desire not to be.

  “Nay, I am no delusion. I am very much real.”

  “But why do you talk like that? Where are you from?”

  So many words. “I’m, well, not from around here.”

  “No kidding.” She shot him a look, a flare in her temper he didn’t understand.

  “If you try to pinch me again, lass, I will pull you over my knee and spank your little bottom until it’s as red as your cheeks.”

  She gasped, held her breath hostage, then burst out laughing.

  As the sound filled his ears, he willed his senses to decipher this enigma of a woman, to understand her, to decide if she could be the answer to his predicament. Perhaps she could fall in love with him. Well, of course she could. Women falling in love with him had never been an issue. And he could pretend the love for her, could he not? He’d never come close to experiencing the emotion that turned men weak and women senseless. But it couldn’t be that difficult to pretend, could it?

  Then he would be forgiven and readmitted to the Brotherhood. He could return to his post as a Protector of the Cauldron.

  If the Cauldron were under such grave risk, though, why didn’t the Arch Druid himself lift the terms of the punishment and allow him to resume his post? No one could get past the born Protectors of the artifact when they were all together. Why wasn’t he contacted by the Arch Druid instead of being forced to fulfill the terms of his banishment in just three days?

  Wren stared at him with arms crossed over her bosom—and what a beautiful bosom it was—tapping her foot against the ground, a trickle of her laughter still hanging in the air.

  But an impatient lass! Know she not that there was much to think about?

  “Look,” she said. “I don’t want to get into another argument with you—I can’t understand what you say half the time anyway. But I need your help. You need to come to the police station with me and tell them what happened. I can’t lose my job, especially over something I didn’t do. Either come to the station or I’ll have them come and find you.”

  Her face settled into a determined mask, and he knew she would not waver on this.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Aye.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose again. This woman had suffered much, it seemed. She was insecure, yet compassionate and afraid. What was she afraid of?

  “Okay. I will come. But not right now.”

  Three days until the full moon. Three days until the Cauldron faced its greatest threat since the days it had traveled across the high seas from the distant isles to settle in the druid realm. He had to get home. This woman must be the answer. He just had to decide how to capture her love.

  Late that evening, Wren had an appointment with her therapist and friend, Michelle Jones. She had started seeing her when the stress of caring for her mother became too great. She tried not to admit her own mental stability seemed nearly as tenuous at the moment.

  She knew who killed Jerry, but something she could not explain prevented her from going to the police. Anyway, he’d told her he would go after he sorted through some personal things. She hadn’t questioned him further and accepted that it would be good enough for now.

  Plus, she had other things on her mind. The voices had gotten louder throughout the day. She could almost make out distinguishable words, as opposed to the chatter she’d been hearing for the past year. At least if she could hear individual words, then she would have a better understanding of how to handle it.

  Like if the voices in her head were telling her the moon was made of cheese, she could say that to her therapist. Or if the voices were telling her the blond angel was really a reincarnated Greek god, she could work with that as well.

  Wren paced in the soft light of the office on Main Street. “I can feel it, Michelle. I am getting sick like my mother.” Her voice echoed off the dark wooden walls, the same cheap, imitation wood that many offices in this town used. Ironic considering so many trees grew around there. She didn’t mind, though. She never liked to see trees cut down. Seemed cruel somehow.

  “Wren, there is no reason why we should expect you to suffer the same mental illness as your mother. Sometimes illness runs in the family; sometimes it does not. We can’t jump to conclusions at this point.”

  “But I hear things. All the time.” She fluttered her fingers around in the air. “It’s like little tinkling bells, and then voices. I can hear their words, though I can’t understand what they say.”

  Michelle sat across from her in an office chair with legs crossed and a yellow notepad on her lap. She flipped the cap of her pen with a manicured thumbnail as she watched Wren pace.

  “Michelle, we’ve known each other a long time. And you know what I’ve gone through with Mom. For a while, these voices stopped. But now they’re back. I can’t sleep at night. I can’t concentrate at work. I feel like someone is watching me. I can’t relax, I’m so paranoid.” She stopped and whirled around. The other woman’s expression did not change. “It’s not normal.”

  She stared into the corner of the room, her voice plummeting into desperation. “After this thing at work, with Jerry’s death…”

  Michelle watched her, expressionless.

  “I might be seeing things, too.” Should she mention Ray?

  “Didn’t you black out during the attack? You said you hit your head. Suffering from visual disturbances is not uncommon with a head injury. Have you spoken with your doctor?”

  Wren bit back words of impatience and said instead, “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  She had to sort through her thoughts before expressing them to her therapist. There was no doubt she trusted Michelle—they’d been friends since grade school, and Miche
lle had never shown judgment of Wren or her mother. But when she held the power to have Wren committed to a mental institution, there was only so much honest dialogue she could suffer.

  “Wren, you’ve had a very rough day.”

  “Sure have.”

  “I think it’s normal that you’re feeling stressed. Who wouldn’t be? Your client attacked you, and then he died. You blacked out, not knowing how he died or by whose hand.”

  Wren was comforted by the fact someone did not think she killed Jerry. “This is confidential, right? I mean, we’ve been friends a long time and you’ve been my therapist for nearly a year now.”

  Michelle’s brows raised into her smooth forehead. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Wren went to the window. The white plastic blinds were pulled shut but she pushed her fingers between two of the slats and looked out. It was dark with few streetlamps lit. A group of teenagers walked by, eating from fast-food bags. She could hear their laughter and pined for their carefree night.

  “When Mom had her first breakdown, I was four. Do you remember me telling you this?”

  “You’ve told me bits and pieces.”

  “I remember it like it was yesterday. She had been in the kitchen making lunch when she dropped the knife and walked out the front door.”

  Her mother’s long wavy hair had flowed down her back, her thin, worn summer dress falling off one shoulder. Her skin was covered in freckles and her eyes were a soft green, agitated and unfocused.

  “I followed her but she didn’t go far, just into the nearby forest. That wasn’t unusual, though. She was always walking in the woods. On this day, she took off all her clothes. There she stood. Naked. Completely naked. She lay down in the grass and started talking to herself. I mean, she carried on an entire conversation, totally oblivious to me standing there watching.

  “But it was different, somehow. I mean, her conversation. I really thought she was talking to someone who was there, only that I couldn’t see myself. She didn’t seem crazy.” Wren turned from the window. “Does this make sense? I know I was only four, but I remember it so clearly. I mean, is it possible to see things that are real but that other people do not?” She held her breath. She’d done it. She’d confessed her secret. What would Michelle do with it?

  “Wren, you were only four. Everything is magical to a child. Through the years, you’ve turned that into some sort of reality. It’s a defense mechanism. You could not bear to think that your mother was losing her mind so you’ve concocted this scenario to help explain her bizarre and delusional behavior.”

  Wren turned back to the window. “Oh.”

  Well, keeping the incident with Ray a secret was the way to go, at least until he’d gone to the police. He could prove he was real. Her reputation around town would not give her enough credibility. Guilty by association—Mom was insane, the daughter not too far behind.

  Plus, she didn’t want to explain why she hadn’t mentioned him earlier. The police and Dr. Martin would be very upset by this omission.

  “Wren?”

  She fell into a nearby chair and twirled a short curl around her finger.

  Michelle uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “I think you should continue on the sleeping pills. If you can start sleeping at night, and maybe coax Erika into helping more, you’ll feel better. It might just be that simple.”

  “Erika won’t help. My sister has always felt Mom is my responsibility.”

  A timer beeped in the corner. “Our time is up. Let’s meet again next week. In the meantime, stay on the meds, unless your headaches get worse. In that case, call your doctor. We’ll need to sort that out.”

  Wren nodded.

  The older woman put her hands on Wren’s shoulders, her friend now and not her therapist. “We’ll work through this. Just because your mother suffers from mental illness does not mean you will too. I think you’re suffering from exhaustion, plain and simple.”

  Wren bit her lip so hard she tasted a little drop of blood on her tongue. “But I hear things and now I’m seeing things.”

  “Same time next week. But call beforehand if you need anything.”

  Wren stepped into the dreary waiting room, just missing hitting her head on the dangling lightbulb, and went outside.

  A blast of cold stung her face making her eyes water. Winter would come early this year. As if on cue, scattered, sparse snowflakes fell out of the sky. It was still autumn and early for snow but in this mountainous area, weather was unpredictable.

  The night was alive with shadows as she walked down the block toward her office. No one would be there now, which was just fine. She wanted to return to the parking lot and didn’t want to question why.

  All but three of the lights along the street were burned out. A lone car sat in a far corner of the parking lot but she didn’t recognize it as a colleague’s. Behind every corner loomed darkness that promised hidden threats. Her heavy coat provided little of the warmth her body craved, and she shook inside it.

  In front of her was the spot where she had first seen Jerry. Images of that morning flipped through her mind like a projector. He called her a bitch. She tried to soothe him. He yelled at her. She tried to soothe him. He hit her. He shook her. He was going to kill her.

  And Ray appeared.

  Just then, the same man stepped out from a shaded corner as if summoned by her mind.

  She didn’t know why she still questioned his existence. It was clear he was real, though even after the pinch, she hadn’t really truly believed it in her heart. But if Michelle were there, she would see Wren talking to a man.

  Well, not just any man. She would see Wren talking to a six-and-a-half-foot tall man with rippling muscles and long, nearly white hair. She would see a sharp jawline, sculpted cheekbones, and full brows. She would see a man unlike any who’d ever ventured into this small country town.

  She wasn’t seeing things yet. Hearing things was another story she’d tackle another day. Little giggles erupted from her throat, only slightly unhinged.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  Her face hardened. She was supposed to be losing her patience with him, wasn’t she? “Are you following me? Or are you here to go to the police station? It’s a little late in the day.” She made a show of checking her watch.

  His boots thudded against the concrete as he prowled forward. A lone owl hooted in the distance and a fox answered the call.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked in place of an answer.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He smirked, or maybe she imagined it.

  “I was just out for a stroll.”

  “Hmm.” She wasn’t sure where to focus her eyes. His chest would do just nicely but she didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. His face? That was as tempting, and as rewarding, so she looked up.

  “You are very tall.”

  “Aye.”

  “Aye?”

  “Mmm.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked around. There was no evidence that anything amiss had occurred, but memories of Jerry were everywhere. In the air, in the dismal light, in the gray concrete with a spot that was darker than the surrounding area.

  She had seen Jerry’s spirit leave his body, and that wasn’t the first time she’d seen something like that. When her grandmother died after being hit by a drunk driver, Wren, safe and uninjured in a car seat in the back, had seen her spirit lift from her body and float away.

  She had never questioned it.

  But she’d also never told anyone other than her mother who’d muttered something about Wren’s destiny.

  And now, replaying in her mind’s eye, she once again saw Jerry’s dead body, the blood bubbling out of his head and his still chest.

  “Lass?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Wren?” He encircled her into those arms again as if sensing she needed his strength.

  Just like Jerry’s gaseous life leaving his body, the tension and
stress left hers. She melted into Ray’s hard chest and found the spot where her head fit and let his energy course through her trembling body.

  His scent filled her nostrils and she could almost taste him, virile and alive. Something about this man was almost medicinal, able to relax her mind and body when not even the doctor’s potent pills could. With each breath, the tension simmered away until finally another feeling took its place—a tingling sensation that started low in her abdomen.

  She clenched her muscles against it, but it would not abate. It grew stronger and worked its way, like a slow-burning flame, through her body, riding along her bloodstream until it filled her. Heart thumping, her fingers clutched the soft cotton shirt covering his chest.

  His hand rubbed the small of her back and each circular motion ignited a new flame. She melted into him like wax until he supported her weight. A whimper formed low in her throat as her hands unclasped the shirt and started traveling up his chest, toward his shoulders, prepared to wrap around his strong neck. Just as she was about to lift her head to look at this magnificent man, to study him, to absorb him, she heard her name.

  “Wren?”

  She froze like ice. “Brian?”

  BRIAN? WHO IS this Brian she speaks to? Riagan turned as a short, thin man strode toward them. A look of confusion, and a trace of anger, shaped his uninteresting face.

  “Wren?” he said again.

  Riagan instantly disliked this man.

  “What’s going on? Who is this guy? Are you okay?”

  Talk not so much, mortal man. Then he remembered he was mortal, too. Damn.

  Wren put distance between herself and Riagan.

  “Hi, Brian. Everything is fine. I, um, I’d like you to meet…” She turned, flashing surprise to see Riagan had followed her movement and now stood directly behind her like a looming wall.

  “Brian, this is Ray.”

  Brian studied Wren then Riagan with a thin, down-turned mouth.

  “Ray, this is Brian.”

  “Her boyfriend,” he said with a sneer.

  Color burst over Wren’s cheeks like an explosion.

  “You are a boyfriend?” Riagan laughed robustly. He certainly was a boy compared to him, but then most men couldn’t compete with his masculinity.